at three a.m.
your breath should be
rounded
rising and falling
peacefully
calmly

like waves on a
smooth beach
but now everything
has fragmented
pixilated and
deconstructed.

your breath is being
dragged through your
lungs in triangles
half shapes without
softly curved edges or
serenity of form

gasps of air so
sharp they could
slit your own
dry throat
from the
inside.

and tears
so cold you
wonder if they're
shards of glass.

please
the next time
your body
becomes a vandal
against the windowpanes
of your mind

please
oh please
remember that
deteriorating
stained glass
can be taken down
from rose windows
by a master artist
and restored
pane by pane
each inch of leading
one at a time.

but repairing
is a process
and a process
takes time.